


Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Words Will Never Hurt Me

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lestrade breaks his leg John feels guilty and decides to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Words Will Never Hurt Me

"You didn't have to do this, you know?"

John Watson shrugged. "It's the least I could do. I feel like it was my fault."

"What do you mean _your_ fault? You weren't even there. You were visiting family, and that's important for the holidays." Lestrade watched John in the kitchen. He couldn't help but stare at the doctor's bum. When John turned around and strode into the living room, he tried to hide that he'd been looking by shifting his gaze to the telly. 

Gregory shifted as best as he could on the sofa. His left leg, in a cast, was elevated on an ottoman. A bunch of people from the Yard had already signed it including Anderson and Donovan. Sherlock had signed his cast as if he had written a text message: Don't be so clumsy next time. SH.

"Yes, however," John set down the food he had prepared for Lestrade on the tray that lay across the detective's lap. "Perhaps if I had stayed to keep an eye on him this wouldn't have happened."

The detective rolled his eyes. "Look, I dealt with Sherlock for five years before you came along. I knew the risks. Besides, Sherlock was right; I was just damn careless." 

Lestrade remembered the incident clearly. 

_Sherlock had come to the conclusion that the murderer had killed the victim by forcibly injecting a powerful dose of_ mistletoe _, of all things, into his veins._

_"Brilliant," Greg said sarcastically. "How are we going to catch this guy then? It's only Christmas Eve and every house is bound to have some mistletoe hanging about."_

_Sherlock gave him a look of contempt. "God, what goes on in your mind? You’re a policeman, do… _policing_! It's obvious!"_

_"Well, it's not to me." Greg really hated it when Sherlock talked down to him. He clenched his fists. "What are you on about?"_

_Letting out an audible sigh, Sherlock explained that the killer had to be a red-haired man, since short red hairs had been left on the fabric of the victim's clothing, and the victim did not know anyone with red hair intimately. Sherlock knew they were after a man from the bruises his large hand had left behind on the victim's arm. The murderer was also injured, a black eye for example, the victim's broken wrist and bloodied fingernails made that obvious that she'd fought back against her attacker._

_"You mean a man like that?" Anderson pointed out a man that was observing the crime scene with other bystanders behind the police tape. Like Sherlock's description, he had very short red hair, and his face was covered in scratches, and his eye was blackened._

_"Oi! You! Stop!" Lestrade called out as the man began to run._

_Sherlock was fast on the man's tail and Lestrade followed. Unlike Sherlock, however, he did not look where he was going and slipped on a patch of ice on the pavement and broke his leg._

_At least Sherlock and Donovan had caught the guy._

"I still feel awful." John said as he sat down and began to dig into his own meal. "If I had been there I could have warned you. Or told Sherlock to stop. Or even treated you onsite."

"John," Lestrade threatened. "For the last time, it's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself." He took a tentative bite of the Shepherd's pie. He closed his eyes and savored the flavor. "This is heavenly. Did you make this yourself?"

John's face reddened. "Actually, no. I never really had an affinity for cooking. I picked this up at the grocery store around the corner from my flat."

After that they ate in silence. Greg stole a few glances at John as they sat and watched the telly. He noticed that John had soft brown eyes. The corner of his lips twitched upwards before he laughed at a joke on the TV. And that even when the doctor's face remained expressionless, the deep lines still remained, telling a story of a man who had seen too much.

The doctor looked at him, nodding toward his empty plate. "You finished with your meal?"

Greg stumbled over his words. "Why, um, yes. It was delicious." When his hand brushed against John's he felt an electric jolt go through his body. It wasn't bad; in fact it felt so wonderful. John's hand was rough and calloused as that of a man of action. Greg tried his best to look at the TV and not at John, who was washing up the dirty plates and putting them in the dishwasher. 

"Um, Lestrade," John cleared his throat. "Is your thermostat working properly? It's freezing in here."

He shook his head sadly. "No, it broke a week ago. I've been meaning to call a repairman about it but I've just been too busy at the Yard."

John shuffled his feet and began to look around. "I didn't notice before, I suppose, because I was in the kitchen heating up the dinner." He seemed almost embarrassed.

"There's a quilt on the top shelf of the hall closet. It's a little small, though. My Grandmere made it for me when I was a boy." He blushed. "But I suppose we could use it."

"Yes, I suppose we have to." John replied as he made his way to the closet and returned with a small, blue quilt in his arms. 

He spread half of the quilt over Lestrade's body and tucked himself under the rest; they were pressed against each other. Greg felt his body temperature rise and his trousers tighten. His mind began to run wild with thoughts of John giving him a hand job under the quilt to both of them making love on top of it.

Unexpectedly, John placed his hand on Greg's thigh under the quilt and squeezed. Their eyes met. Lestrade could see that John's eyes were wide and filled with lust and his lips were parted. When he glanced down, the detective inspector could see a bulge from the doctor's trousers.

"Oh, fuck it." Lestrade twisted around the best he could, cupped John's face, leaned in and kissed him. The ex-soldier tugged at his hair and pulled him closer.

"I've wanted this for so long." John breathed after they parted.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Really? But I thought… Sarah… or at least Sherlock...?"

John let out a low chuckle and kissed the detective's forehead. "No. Me and Sherlock are just _friends_. I can't even imagine trying to be in a romantic relationship with him; it's crazy enough just being his friend and flat mate. And Sarah…" He shook his head. "We _tried_. But it didn't work at all. Besides, I've always kind of had a thing for you since we first met, Greg."

His heart thumped a little harder when John said his name, and he smiled. "Kind of stupid that I had to go and break my leg for us to finally..." He was afraid to finish the sentence, afraid that this was a dream. 

John's face lit up. "Oh, I forgot. I haven't signed your cast, have I?"

Without another word, he bounded from the sofa grabbed a Sharpie from Gregory's desk. John kneeled beside Lestrade and began to write on the very top of the cast, near the knee. When he finished, he grinned. "Like it?"

Greg cocked his head so he could adjust for reading upside down. 'Get Well Soon. Your Boyfriend, John'. 

"It's perfect".

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


End file.
